


Night Watch

by taichara



Category: War of the Visions: Final Fantasy Brave Exvius (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Some things just can't be kept hidden forever, and it's usually better not to try.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Parallels Fanworks Exchange 2020





	Night Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



Rough camping was not new to Lasswell. Even rough camping with injured companions (distracting, distracting …), with every nerve waiting for ambush, was something that'd become painfully familiar. He hunkered down under the woolen cloak he'd acquired and stared out over the camp from his vantage-point on an overgrown hillock and willed his eyes to stay open; he knew he'd surely die of shame if he fell asleep while on watch.

But oh, he was getting tired. Tired and drained, and chasing his own tail besides …

_I suppose it makes some sort of sense. A vision is made from someone's memories, so why wouldn't I have just as much a chance of being summoned as anyone else? The farplane doesn't seem to care if the person's dead or alive or even from this world …_

Lasswell was rambling to himself and he knew it. He just couldn't manage to care about it right that moment, because rambling to himself distracted him -- even for just a few moments -- from all the other things that made his current situation hover somewhere between unbelievable and nearly unbearable.

A vision? He could deal with that. It was, arguably, only fair after all the souls he'd summoned himself. He was actually a little pleased with himself (not that he'd ever admit it) over his lack of dismay. But the rest …

_I wish Rain was here. I wish …_

He wished Rain was there with him in Ardra. Gods he wished everyone were with him here in Ardra. In a kingdom -- a terrible patchwork of fighting, biting kingdoms -- straight out of old stories and fairy tales. No one had been to Ardra in centuries. Some folks from Grandshelt and Zoldaad weren't even sure it was real.

_But here I am. As a vision._

_Everything feels so antiquated, like the world's still half wild. Did I get summoned back in time?_

It seemed insane, but then everything that happened since Darklord descended on Grandshelt was insane. Lasswell heaved a sigh, hunkered down further, wished he dared a fire, and scanned the treeline for signs of ambush. His nightsight was taking a beating after all this time on the run without eating properly, but he still had work to do.

_All I can do is keep pushing forward. I swore I'd help these people._

But how long …

-*-

_He looks miserable._

From his hollow in the lee of an oak, Mont watched Lasswell's tiny shifts of posture and felt another pang of concern adding itself to the pile. 

_And it's a different kind of miserable than what we're all going through. I'm not that blind, I can see something's gnawing at him. It's eating him up, literally._

That gnawing was a growing interest on Mont's part. Lasswell's slow, infintesimally slow evolution -- the breathtaking swordmaster-knight starting to get sluggish -- hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither had the turn his appetite had taken towards rabbit and zuu, first rare and now barely singed, though oddly Lasswell also tried to distract from that? It was strange.

Strange, like the look of horrified guilt Mont saw flicker across the swordman's face when Schuzelt's wounds split and flared up again. Lasswell had instantly offered his aid, but for a moment there was something else …

_I should ask. The worst that could happen is he thinks I'm mad._

The stars had had interesting things to say tonight, according to Ramada. He'd made a point to ask, not just about their situation (and they could not get to Wezette fast enough, for Father's sake and Schuzelt's) but about Lasswell specifically; and the stars, Ramada said, were for once surprisingly clear on the matter --

_"All swords take the blood of men, but the sword's wielder needs life in order to live."_

_I should ask. I should. The longer I wait the more he'll suffer. And the more he does, the more he might slow us down._

Which was what Mont planned to say to Lilyth and Ramada about it, if events fell the way he expected -- he hoped -- them to.

Resolved, he uncurled from his oaken hollow and picked his way across the dark of the camp towards Lasswell's sentry perch.

-*-

"Lasswell? Human blood -- you need it, don't you?"

The ground fell away from under him. No one had ever just -- How -- how did Mont know? How did Leonis' crown prince discover --

"I …"

Frozen into a stunned shock, tired and drained and, yes, hungry, Lasswell fumbled for a denial and found not a word to save him. Not with Mont looking at him with frank concern and, yes, there was a crimping of tawny brows that suggested Mont was maybe uncertain about this but --

But.

But how could he muster any sort of face-saving lie and half-truth now? He lost the chance the moment he'd stared back into those eyes. Lasswell looked away, into the dark of the forest, and swallowed once. Then closed his eyes against the answer Mont was clearly waiting for.

"… Yes. I don't know why. My parents … died when I wasn't more than an infant, and I was taken in …"

"Why doesn't matter. What matters is right now you're hurting."

 _Oh. Oh, Mont, please, don't do this._

_… Only look into the forest. Don't turn back around. Don't._

A hand on his shoulder -- 

"The only ones who know are me, and Ramada. I can keep it that way if you want. But, Lasswell -- this is my fault. It's me that brought you here to begin with, so let me make up for being so cavalier. It's the least I can do for you after all this."

_I …_

Mont tugged, once, wanting Lasswell to face him but not willing to make him do it. No reason to make him have to fight for it; slowly, Lasswell turned away from the forest and once again met Mont's gaze. But still he shook his head.

"I can't ask it of you."

"You aren't asking, I'm offering."

A wry look crossed Mont's face.

"If you'd rather, look at like it's just me making sure we can keep making time. But it's _not_ just that, and I know you know that. Please -- I'd like to help you. If you'll let me?"

Hunger churned like bile in Lasswell's throat and underscored the dull aching of the last few days. If … if …

_If I slip, I don't want to think of the consequences. I've never tried to wait myself out in this close confines with anyone as badly injured as His Majesty and Schuzelt …_

_Gods, what if Schuzelt finds out. He'll -- I don't want to think about it._

_I just …_

"Lasswell? Please."

He squeezed his eyes closed again for a fluttering heartbeat and forced the words from a throat gone hoarse for far too many reasons.

"… You need the sharpest knive you have. And something to bind the wound; potions are better."

"Doubly so if we don't want to be noticed, right? It's alright, I'm ready."

And he was, the wretch. Lasswell saw the glint of moonlight on a wicked hunting knife as Mont drew it and tested the edge on a bit of bark. Clearly satisfied, he offered the blade to Lasswell while taking stock of what else he carried. The prompt, lopsided smile was oddly endearing.

"It's going to have to be binding myself up until I slip back into camp, at least, but I'll be alright. Where should I make the cut? Or do you want to do it?"

No, no. No, Lasswell wasn't sure he trusted himself to do any such thing, not when he was knocked so off-balance; he pressed the knife firmly back into Mont's hands with a shake of his head that rippled his hair.

"I would rather you had control of what happens. It's your choice, every step of the way … Including where, and how. This is -- invasive of me, no matter how you look at it …"

Oh, that little smile.

"Only if I didn't invite you, and I did."

Mont pulled one gauntlet free, and the glove underneath followed quickly; the blade flashed again in the moonlight, and Lasswell saw the welling of warm crimson against Mont's pale, calloused palm --

Murmuring gratitude, he took the offered hand in his own and lowered his head to drink.

-*-

Lilyth watched Mont leave the centre of camp. Watched him approach their visionary sentinel; could just barely catch the murmur -- intense, but indecipherable -- on the night breeze as they spoke. And she saw the flash of a blade, and --

"Don't go, Lilyth. It will be fine, I promise."

Ramada's sleepy murmur at her shoulder brought her up short, and she grumbled, raking a hand through tangled curls before fixing the lancer with the most jaundiced of looks.

"That doesn't look 'fine' to me. What's going on?"

The whispered response was short, swift, and boggling, but -- despite that part of her roared refusal to accept injury to her liege -- Lilyth knew Ramada was right. Well, mostly. It maybe wasn't 'fine' but it was _needed_ , and it was necessary, and it was Mont's responsibility. But it didn't mean she had to entirely like it.

"Lasswell could've been a threat to His Majesty."

But Ramada's answering smile was serene.

"Likewise, to Schuzelt; but he was neither. He chose to become ill rather than take advantage of the injured, or of what could be convenient battlefield accidents. He's an honourable man, even if it harmed him.

"We'll keep watch, Lilyth, of course we will. But it will be fine, the stars say so."

Well, fine enough. With one last sigh Lilyth tossed herself back onto her pallet of boughs; there was enough to worry about. She could let this one go.

"… I'll hold you to that, you know."

But Ramada was already sleeping, or convincingly seemed that way. Curse her. Lilyth took one final glance up to the crest of hillocks -- in time to see Lasswell bow his head. And there was something in the entire posture of the man …

Maybe it would be alright after all. They could use that sort of fortune.

_And you'd best make good use of that gift, you._


End file.
